


we'll be alright

by aboyandhiswolves (rocketmeaway)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, season 3B compliant, season 3b spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:31:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketmeaway/pseuds/aboyandhiswolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>simple ficlet in which stiles seeks a little support.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll be alright

Stiles doesn’t find out until the next morning at school that Derek is back. Scott murmurs to him at their lockers, filling him in on what happened the night before, and Stiles feels a tug in his gut despite the stress. He can’t bring himself to tell Scott he thinks he might have helped Barrow, not with how much Scott likes Kira. How would that work out? ‘Hey bro, I totally left a coded message on that board and sent a serial killer after your crush.’ No. No way.

Scott can read him like a book, though, as always. The worry in his eyes and the way his brow furrows as he asks Stiles if he’s alright hurts. All Stiles can do is muster up a smile and a nod. He’s gotten very good at lying over the years, but Scott still looks uncertain as he makes his way to his history class.

Stiles somehow manages to make it through his first three classes, but can barely focus. He barely slept and what he found out the night before is eating at him; even the Adderall he took between first and second period isn’t helping much. His mind just keeps wandering, struggling to remember what it seemingly lost. He’s terrified. He’d thought he was getting better.

As the bell rings for lunch period, he finds himself walking out to his Jeep and just leaving. He isn’t sure where he’s going at first; he just knows he needs to get out of school. He needs to breathe. After ten minutes of driving, he realizes his subconscious has been steering him towards Derek’s loft. Maybe he just needs to talk to someone as fucked up as he is. Maybe Derek will humor him. He doesn’t expect Derek to have the answers, not really. Derek’s life is still a mess. But maybe Derek can empathize, and Stiles needs that right now. He doesn’t need Lydia’s clinical eye, Allison’s pitying one, or Scott’s confused, hurt one. He needs Derek’s steady, cool one.

Derek frowns in surprise when he slides the door open and finds Stiles standing there, hands awkwardly shoved deep into his pockets. Derek looks just as exhausted, and still irritated. He looks mussed, and there are black garbage bags littering the loft. He’s been cleaning up their mess all night, and Stiles’ stomach sinks guiltily. Derek’s arms cross, and he stares at Stiles.

"Sorry, about all of -" he stumbles, removing a hand from a pocket and waving it around the general vicinity. He doesn’t really need to apologize, he didn’t partake in any of the organization, but he still showed up and participated. "You weren’t really supposed to find out. Sorry."

Derek sighs and steps back, inviting Stiles to walk in. He does, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over a chair.

"Why aren’t you at school?" Derek asks, voice quiet as he walks back over to a space on the floor he’d been cleaning. Stiles can see the obvious stain of someone’s puke, and winces. He walks to the kitchen and finds a rag, and makes his way back over, crouching down. He dips the rag in the bucket of cleaning solution Derek has and begins to help him scrub, ice creeping up his spine remembering how he probably had to do the same with Boyd’s blood. And they’d just left him here.

Stiles shakes it off and answers. “Couldn’t focus today.”

Derek is silent as they clean, not prompting Stiles in any way. He knows by now that Stiles will talk if he wants to. It’s never about getting Stiles to talk, it’s about getting him to shut up, so. Obviously Derek recognizes he came here for a reason. It’s oddly comforting for Stiles, knowing that Derek can already read him so well, and that he gives him space to gather his thoughts and words before speaking.

A long time passes before he speaks again. They finish cleaning the stain from the floor, organize some of the trash bags, and start trying to clean up the stray phosphorous paint. Derek hands him a black light and they rove the loft. It's kind of pointless considering you can’t even see it without the black light, but Derek is a neat freak and he’s pissed and still stewing and not willing to let the anger go just yet. Stiles can’t really blame him. 

"Scott told me what happened after I left last night," he comments as he scours the place. Derek glances over his shoulder at him before continuing to do the same.

"Any ideas?" he asks gruffly, and Stiles shakes his head, straightening.

"You get a mark behind your ear, too?"

Derek pauses and nods, instinctively reaching up and brushing a finger over it.

"I think it has to do with Kira," Stiles continues quietly, and Derek frowns.

"The girl that was with Scott?" Stiles nods, looking uncomfortable. Derek can tell he’s still avoiding what he really wants to talk about.

"I hate even bringing her up. Scott likes her a lot," he tries, and Derek shrugs.

"People you like usually end up fucking you over somehow," he says bluntly, and Stiles stares at him for a moment.

"Not always," he eventually says, quiet, and Derek scoffs slightly. He doesn’t believe Stiles, but Stiles doesn’t push it. It’s too sensitive, and something Derek needs to figure out for himself. Arguing it won’t make him see it.

Another long while passes until he speaks again. “There’s a lot of shit going on,” he sighs, setting the black light down as Derek turns. “Aside from the weird armored shadow dudes, I mean.”

"Yeah?" Derek prompts, throwing his rag down. He grabs a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and offers Stiles one, who takes a swig before continuing.

"Yeah," he confirms. "You know that whole ritual suicide thing me, Scott and Allison did? To save our parents?" Derek nods.

"Well, it fucked us all up. I mean, we were pretty much dead for almost an entire day. Deaton forewarned us, but. Anyway. Scott couldn’t shift, Allison started having creepy visions of her dead aunt -" Derek winces a little, but Stiles continues. "- and I was having crazy nightmares. Inception level shit, you know? Nightmares within nightmares, waking up screaming bloody murder. I couldn’t tell what was a dream and what was real. And I couldn’t read. It was like everything we were good at, we were being stripped of. But then out of nowhere we were better. At least, I thought so.”

Stiles sits on Derek’s couch with a thump and a sigh, resting elbows on his knees as Derek eyes him. “You thought so,” Derek states. “What changed?”

"Last night," Stiles rasps, looking up at Derek with haunted eyes. "Last night changed everything."

"What happened?"

"I think I’m losing my mind, Derek," he says, voice cracking and tears standing in his eyes. "I think I’m going fucking crazy." He buries his face in his hands, and he feels the shift and the sink in the cushion next to him as Derek sits. It’s a long moment before he feels Derek’s hand smooth up over his back and grip his shoulder, and it makes Stiles shudder. Physical contact from Derek usually involves pain, so this is a nice development.

He turns his head, revealing his face, and meets Derek’s eyes. “I think I set a serial killer on someone,” he gets out. “But I don’t - I can’t remember it Derek. I’m losing pieces of my memory and I don’t know how to get them back.”

"Why would you think that?" Derek frowns.

"The killer was at the school," he whispers. "In the chemistry lab. There was a note left on the blackboard for him. Atomic numbers. It spelled out a name - Kira. The numbers on the board were in my handwriting, Derek. But I can’t remember. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I went and helped save her that same goddamn night. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m losing my grip on reality again.”

"Hey," Derek says sharply, and Stiles looks at him, just now realizing the tears that were standing in his eyes have begun to fall down his cheeks. He’s only cried in front of Derek once before. Over his dad. He feels even more vulnerable this time around, because it’s just them. There’s no one else involved. Stiles’ tears aren’t for anyone but himself.

"This is real," Derek assures, his grip on Stiles’ shoulder tightening, and Stiles relishes it. "We’re here right now." Stiles sucks in a breath and then exhales heavily, nodding as he reaches up to wipe roughly at his cheeks. Derek gives him a few long moments to calm.

"Why’d you come here?" Derek finally asks, and Stiles lets out a small laugh.

"Because you’re fucked up too and I knew you’d listen to me," he says bluntly. Derek considers that for a moment, and then nods.

"Solid reasoning," he allows, and Stiles laughs again, prompting a slight smile from Derek.

"I don’t expect you to fix me," Stiles adds.

"Good," Derek returns. "You shouldn’t. I can’t promise that." Stiles’ shoulders slump a little. "But you should know that I’ll be here to listen. And I’ll try." Stiles turns, meeting Derek’s eyes again. The pale green is comforting and genuine, and Stiles smiles a little.

"I missed you, dude." It’s candid and unexpected, and Derek says as much in the way his eyes widen and his brows lift.

"Seriously," Stiles continues, elbowing him lightly in the side. "Scott’s been like a lost puppy without you, you know. You might be a bag of dicks most of the time, but I guess we kind of need you around pretty badly."

Derek smirks slightly. “A bag of dicks,” he sighs sarcastically. “I’ve never heard a more eloquent description.” Stiles snorts and elbows him harder, looking away, and Derek smiles a little more warmly, just for himself. Things are far from okay and these stupid kids made an absolute mess of his home, but he cares about them more than he’s cared about anyone in awhile. Particularly the idiot sitting next to him.

"Help me finish cleaning this place up," he says gruffly, and Stiles nods and stands, grabbing his discarded rag.

"Maybe I’m not the crazy one," Stiles mutters. "We’re scrubbing away shit that’s invisible 99% of the time."

Derek twists his lips. “Don’t complain. You weren’t here to pick up the used glow in the dark condoms.”

Stiles gags, and Derek smirks. They’ll be okay. Somehow.


End file.
